


Disarming Severus Snape

by Cunegonde



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cats, Comedy Gore, Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings, Snape does a whoopsie, a little bit about dinosaurs, bad puns and childish innuendo, light dismemberment, maybe the weirdest thing I’ve ever written, no porn and barely any plot, seriously there’s blood but no violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:48:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29423328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cunegonde/pseuds/Cunegonde
Summary: Severus Snape would never go out of his way to help Remus Lupin, and he would never, ever be caught dead trying to cuddle up to him — at least, not if he can avoid it. After a moment of weakness and a panicked split-second decision, a classic(?) comedy of errors ensues.Set kind of loosely in OotP times but not really anchored in canon.If you don’t enjoy the phrase “vomit-encrusted appendage” you might want to give this one a miss. This is apparently my version of fluff! Happy Anti-Valentine’s Day!
Relationships: Remus Lupin/Severus Snape, Sirius Black & Crookshanks
Comments: 23
Kudos: 39





	Disarming Severus Snape

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Loss of limb, treated about as seriously as JKR does in the books. This story follows fantasy comedy rules. I recognise that if any of this happened in the real world it would be deeply traumatic.  
> Also, there’s a bit of vomiting and defecating, which I find classes it up and lends a special _je ne sais quoi_ to the narrative.
> 
> Set at a nonspecific time of year vaguely during OotP and assuming Lupin is freeloading at Grimmauld Place. Idk, it’s like barely even a fanfic, don’t worry about it too much.
> 
> While I normally spend weeks agonising over everything I post, I just crapped this one out in a day and a half, so please flay me for any typos or errors. I am a great big walking cliché and I loathe Valentine’s Day, so I thought I would do something special to mark the occasion (I mean, other than deactivating facebook and hiding in my hovel with the curtains drawn until the candy goes on sale.)

It was quiet in the house at Grimmauld Place — but then, why should Severus have expected any of its esteemed denizens to rise before noon, let alone eight in the morning? God forbid. At least the werewolf had an excuse to lay about, though Severus would hardly admit that to his face.

Nor would he admit that this was actually the reason for his errand that morning. Before the last Order meeting, he had taken stock of the potions cabinet at Grimmauld Place and noted an absence of the pain potions and muscle relaxants favoured by the werewolf during his tenure at Hogwarts. Severus told himself that the cabinet was lacking in quite a few other essentials as well, and so he had absolutely not gone out of his way to restock Lupin’s preferred post-moon palliatives.

Speaking of the werewolf, Severus figured he might as well check up on Lupin while he was there. It was a little less than an hour after moonrise, and he should probably make sure that Lupin had no injuries requiring immediate attention. Not that Severus expected him to have injured himself with the Wolfsbane Potion in his system. It simply happened to be convenient for Severus that morning. In fact, it was so convenient, it would almost be an inconvenience _not_ to check on the werewolf.

Having satisfied himself with this very sound logic, Severus set off to discover which of Grimmauld Place’s numerous bedrooms Lupin was sleeping in. He had never checked on Lupin after a full moon before, but that thought didn’t trouble him. It had never been convenient before.

It was almost too easy to find Lupin’s room; the door was cracked open and the sound of soft snoring drifted out into the hallway. Severus was not surprised to learn that Lupin snored. Everything about the man was slightly irritating, right down to the way he converted oxygen into carbon dioxide. Severus was more surprised to learn that Lupin slept with the door open. _That_ didn’t seem likely at all. Gently, gently, pushing the door with the tip of his index finger, Severus manoeuvred his way into the room. He let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding when the hinges stayed obligingly silent.

Lupin was out like a log, or whatever the dratted expression was. He lay curled on his side, back facing the door, with the duvet pulled up to his waist. In his arms, like a child with a stuffed bear, he held an enormously fluffy cat. The cat was also snoring, at about twice the tempo of Lupin’s steady rhythm.

Severus frowned. That would account for the open door, at least. Come to think of it, he did remember something about Black ‘cat-sitting’ for Granger, of all people. This was beyond Severus’ comprehension, but apparently Black insisted that not only was Granger’s cat his _friend,_ but that the animal could actually _speak_ to him and him alone. The man was certifiable. How did no one else see it?

Lupin seemed fine, apart from the dark smudges under his eyes and the inevitable sniffling and sneezing he’d be doing after sleeping with cat hair halfway up his nostrils. Severus quirked a little smile at the thought. Lupin’s sneezes were small and unassuming, much like the man himself, and he was the type of person who always apologised after he sneezed. Not that Severus had ever paid attention to the way Lupin sneezed. He bent his smile back into a moue of disapproval.

Still, he had to admit that the cat was rather… cute, for lack of a better word, though he had to doubt the merits of any animal that would cuddle up to werewolves and befriend the likes of Sirius Black. But he couldn’t blame the dumb animal for its poor judgment of character. There was no accounting for feline taste. For example, despite their popular reputation for aloofness, most cats seemed to _adore_ Severus Snape.

Severus had always been more of a dog person, but he would never admit that within a thousand-mile radius of Sirius Black.

Without thinking, Severus reached out his hand. The cat was _so_ fluffy, and it looked so peaceful nestled in Lupin’s arms, and Severus was far too tempted to plunge his cold fingers into its plush fur. He proceeded with great caution, gently caressing the ruff around its neck. The cat twitched, sighed, and briefly opened two of its three eyelids, but it made no other movement. Evidently, it did not perceive Severus as a threat. Severus wasn’t sure whether or not to be insulted.

Feeling emboldened, Severus intensified the feline massage as the cat began to purr. There was something deeply gratifying about those soft vibrations thrumming through his hand.

All of a sudden Lupin shifted, adjusting his grip, and next thing Severus knew the werewolf was cradling not only the cat but Severus’ forearm as well. Severus’ mind went blank with panic. His heart started beating again when he realised that Lupin was still asleep, but if he was beginning to stir, he was probably not far from waking. Severus had no time to consider his options. He had to get out. _NOW._

In the next instant, he was doubled over in pain. He groped blindly for the source of the pangs but fumbled, off-kilter, and crashed against the side of a rough wooden wall. After a minute his external senses returned to him and he perceived that he was outdoors. Another minute revealed that he was outside the Shrieking Shack. He almost wanted to laugh, but it came out as a grimace. He hadn’t given himself time to think about where to apparate; he had been going on pure instinct. It figured that his subconscious would bring him here. Likely, he had attempted to apparate inside the Shack, but the anti-apparition spells designed to prevent anyone from accidentally materialising on top of a transformed werewolf were evidently still in place.

As he began to examine his surroundings, he became aware that there was something damp seeping through the thin wool fabric that covered the shoulder he was clutching. Blood. That was when Severus discovered that his emergency escape had not been _entirely_ successful.

Bloody — fucking — FUCK.

* * *

Remus woke slowly as the sunlight peeking through his curtains grew gradually more insistent. Then his body convulsed with a sneeze, chasing off the last of his sleep. Still, he kept his eyes closed. He was wonderfully cozy, so much so that at first he forgot that the night before had been a full moon. His body temperature was just right, the angle of his pillow was perfection, and there was the deeply comforting sensation of his hand curled around another’s fingers… the smell of drying blood…

Remus lurched upright. Oh no. Oh no oh no ohnonononono. Desperately trying to stop his head from swimming, he looked down at the detached arm bleeding out onto the sheet beside him.

Oh, blooming hell. He had eaten Severus Snape.

* * *

Severus nearly sobbed with relief as the pain began to subside. He was no healer, but he had managed to magically cauterise the wound — no small feat, given the awkward angle and the fact that he was deprived of his wand hand. Still, he would need to get back to his own quarters to take the appropriate pain relief potions, and perhaps numb the excruciating memory of the past hour as well.

When he finally felt well enough to walk, he emerged from around the back of the Shrieking Shack. He would have to take the pedestrian path back to Hogwarts. Thank God and Minerva McGonagall that it wasn’t a Hogsmeade Saturday.

Severus pulled himself up straight, set his face into its usual hard lines, and took a long stride forward. Fortunately, the air was crisp enough to justify the way he drew his cloak about himself. Just as he stepped onto the path, congratulating himself on his presence of mind in the face of challenging (if self-created) circumstances, he heard a winded voice call out cheerfully: “Severus! Severus dear, wait up, will you?”

Fuck. Why?!

* * *

It had to be Severus. No doubt. Those long, elegant fingers and narrow wrists; the blue-stained but surprisingly well-manicured nails; and of course, the telltale Mark upon the forearm. God, poor Severus! What had he ever done to deserve such a fate? Tears stung Remus’ eyes, but did not fall; nausea roiled his stomach, but he didn’t vomit. What the hell was _wrong_ with him?

He was a monster. That’s what.

He couldn’t _remember_ eating Severus. In fact, all he could remember of the night before was settling down for a pleasantly boring night’s sleep. He _had_ taken the Wolfsbane. Remus scoured his memories several times over, but he was _certain_ he had taken every dose this cycle. Ninety-nine percent certain. Eighty-five, at the very least.

But then, who could say what _really_ happened when he became the beast? The Wolfsbane Potion was still quite new technology; no one knew for sure about its longterm efficacy, let alone unforeseen side-effects or adverse reactions. These were still largely uncharted waters.

Perhaps he had grown violent with anger. Perhaps his bloodlust was simply too great. Perhaps the wolf within was still furious at having been denied his meal of Severus Snape all those years ago, and had finally been able to seize his slippery Slytherin prey. Remus had never _heard_ of a wolf carrying that kind of disgruntlement from moon to moon; but then, there was so much about lycanthropy that remained unrecorded. He couldn’t rule out the possibility that he had secretly harboured a desire to feast on Snape’s flesh for the past two decades.

The combination of the words _secret_ and _desire_ and _Snape_ did something very peculiar to Remus’ own flesh, which was entirely inappropriate given that he was currently cradling the recently-deceased man’s severed limb.

Horrified, Remus decided that he must keep the appendage safe and hidden until he could come up with a plan of action. He cast a stasis charm over it — the same one he’d often used on cuts of meat when he was living without access to refrigeration — and then shoved it into the first drawer he could reach. Out of sight; now if only he could put it out of mind.

Carefully, Remus cleaned all the blood from his bed and his person. Then he fled Grimmauld Place.

* * *

“Good morning, Severus!”

Severus gritted his teeth in what he thought must be an appalling approximation of a smile, but was in fact not too different from his usual way of greeting people. “Good morning, Pomona.”

“What brings you to Hogsmeade so bright and early?” Pomona caught up to him now, lumbering under the weight of four trays of seedlings as two large terracotta pots drifted along in front of her.

“Oh — just an early morning stroll. You know how I like to promenade,” Severus said, although Pomona Sprout knew no such thing.

“Lovely day for it,” Pomona said, “if a bit blustery. Would you mind awfully lending a hand?”

Severus cringed at her choice of words. For a moment he was utterly dismayed, wondering how he could carry four trays with one arm; then he remembered that he was a wizard. “Certainly. Forgive me, I should have offered.” He withdrew his wand and levitated the seedling trays out of her arms, freeing her to focus on the terracotta pots. Pomona sighed with relief.

“Ta,” she said, glancing over at him. “I thought you were a lefty?” she added conversationally.

“I’m ambidextrous,” Severus lied. Curse Pomona Sprout; she always was too observant.

“Impressive,” Pomona said mildly. “You know, back in my day, they used to rap your knuckles with a wand if they caught you using your left hand for spellwork.”

“In my day, too,” Severus reminded her. “I just refused to learn my lesson.”

Pomona chortled. “Yes, you always marched to your own beat and all that, didn’t you, Severus? Well, good on you.”

Severus nodded in acknowledgement, suddenly feeling a bit awkward. He was always wary of unforeseen praise.

“It’s very gentlemanlike of you,” Pomona continued, “helping out the enemy like this.”

Severus bristled. “I beg your…?”

“You’ve trounced us the last few years, I’ll admit it, but I hope you haven’t gotten too comfortable. We’ve got a real shot today, mark my words. I just hope this blasted wind doesn’t bother the players too much.”

Ah. Quidditch. Yes. Of course. The Slytherin-Hufflepuff match.

Damn it! The Slytherin-Hufflepuff match was today. He’d have a difficult time breaking away to return to Grimmauld Place before then. Cursing to himself, he picked up the pace. At the very least, he could get some of that pain potion (and a nice glass of sherry) into his bloodstream first.

* * *

Sirius was padding about in his dog form; having grown tired of chasing cockroaches, he was desperate for something new to occupy his time. It was even quieter than usual, and he didn’t like it at all. It didn’t take too long for him to realise that Remus wasn’t at home. That was unusual, morning after the full moon. Late morning. A whine escaped his throat, building in volume until the little human voice in the back of his mind complained that he sounded like a dog waiting on his master to return, and _that_ was _not on_.

He thought perhaps he ought to go check Remus’ bedroom, just in case. As he pointed himself in that direction, a peculiar scent caught his attention. He breathed in deeply, panting a little as he tried to interpret what he was smelling.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Was Remus hurt? Sirius tore down the hallway. He briefly transformed back to unlock the door (oh, did poor Remus really believe there were locks in this house that wouldn’t spring open for a scion of the Black family?) and then reverted to canine form, not trusting his human nose to follow the scent. It only took a moment for him to locate the source. There, inside a lower drawer of the old mahogany chest-on-chest. He pawed at the hardware, too agitated and impatient to turn human again, until he managed to pry it open.

He was not prepared for what he found inside. There, half-heartedly buried under a layer of Remus’ unmentionables, was an arm. A human arm that was conspicuously not attached to any other part of a human body. The place where it should have joined the shoulder was stoppered with a layer of congealed blood. Fighting his revulsion, Sirius nosed away the delicate fabric draped over said arm — and he chose not to question in that moment why Remus, a man who owned exactly four shirts, three pairs of trousers, two robes, and zero ties, had so many lacy underthings — to get a better look at it. His rapidly beating heart sank.

It was Snape, no doubt about it. Those knobbly, skeletal fingers; the jaundiced flesh and eerily stained nails; and of course, the telltale Mark upon the forearm. A shudder ran through his canine body. The smell set him on edge, the metallic blood not enough to disguise the putrid scent of the man he’d always hated.

Sirius didn’t know what had happened, but in his canine brain, the _why_ of it all mattered far less than what he would do about it. His first and most pressing instinct was to protect his friend. He couldn’t just leave this damning evidence out where anyone could find it. Snarling in disgust, he closed his large jaws gently around the appendage. Not for the first time, he cursed the fact that he had nowhere to escape to outside the house; this would be _so_ much easier if only he had a garden to bury it in. Failing that, as the townhouse lacked any actual green space, Sirius went to the greenest space in the house: his brother’s old bedroom.

He was not sure what instinct drove him there. Maybe if he’d been in human form, he would have thought twice about crossing the threshold he hadn’t dared pass since his return from Azkaban; but in the simplified logic of his canine mind, he decided that the Dark Mark belonged in the Darkest room in the house. He nudged the arm under his brother’s bed. No one was about to go poking their nose under there.

As he backed out of the room, he nearly bumped into Crookshanks. They both jumped, hackles raised. Sirius quickly lowered his gaze, a submissive gesture that he thought might pass for an apology in the perplexing language of cats.

Crookshanks didn’t relax much, but Sirius sensed that he was not the cause of his feline friend’s discomfort. Crookshanks had always seemed uneasy in this part of the house; no doubt he sensed the dark energy still lingering around the dearly departed Death Eater’s room. But today, Sirius suspected there was something more. His suspicions were all but confirmed by the way Crookshanks turned heel and pussyfooted away with his tail swishing high in the air, ever so nonchalant; the feline equivalent of trying to change the subject.

 _What happened?_ Sirius attempted to convey this question to Crookshanks, whimpering in confusion.

Taking advantage of his natural ability to navigate the stairs more nimbly than a large dog, Crookshanks darted out of reach. Still, Sirius knew these stairs like the back of his paw, and he caught up quickly. _What happened?!_

Crookshanks took his sweet time answering, weaving in and out of Sirius’ legs, flagrantly marking him with the annoying scent of _cat_ that Sirius only tolerated from his closest feline friend. Sirius herded Crookshanks back up the stairs and dragged the arm out again, forcing the feline to confront it. Crookshanks begin to hiss, then returned to rubbing affectionately against Sirius’ flank. At last, Sirius began to make out what Crookshanks was saying: _Shadow-man, wolf-man, stroking, gone, ouch!_

Sirius cocked his head. Bloody cats; they could be so damned inscrutable sometimes. He tried to convey that he didn’t understand, but Crookshanks kept repeating the same thing: _Shadow-man, wolf-man, stroking, gone, ouch!_ Little bastard had the insolence to start purring as he repeated this.

_Gone. Gone… what does that mean? Did Moony eat him?_

Crookshanks’ pupils dilated with that little glimmer that Sirius always read as laughter. _No. Stupid. Wrong._

Sirius pulled himself up straighter. Why were cats always so bloody patronising? He wasn’t stupid. It was a perfectly valid question.

_Gone. Crack! Ouch!_

Gone. Sirius turned this over in his mind. He knew, very distantly, that he would process better with his human brain, but he didn’t want to break off his conversation with Crookshanks. His first and most terrible thought had been that Snape, taking a leaf out of Peter’s playbook, had tried to frame Remus for murder; but Crookshanks’ apparent lack of concern — along with the fact that it would have been a pretty ham-fisted way to go about things, and Snape was slimy but not stupid — persuaded him that this was not the case. But what, then? Gone, crack, ouch… apparition! Of course, Snape had tried to apparate away and had splinched himself. Well, that made _far_ more sense than Remus suddenly turning murderer while on the Wolfsbane Potion.

That only left the question of what Snape had been doing in Remus’ bedroom. He turned over Crookshanks’ words again. _Shadow-man, wolf-man, stroking… stroking…_ He remembered exactly where he had found the arm. Suddenly, his stomach turned, and he was grateful it was so much easier to sick up in dog form. Which he did, all over Snape’s filthy, villainous left hand.

* * *

Severus was not thrilled about spending potentially hours at a quidditch match when he had a moderately pressing medical need to attend to, but it was his professional responsibility to attend all of Slytherin’s matches, and it would have aroused suspicion if he didn’t make an appearance. Now that he’d stemmed the flow of blood and dulled the pain, he thought he could hold out a little longer, though he still hoped that one or both Seekers would be in top form today.

Privately, Severus was not that invested in the outcome of this match. Of course he preferred Slytherin to win, but if it wasn’t in the cards this time, Hufflepuff was always his second choice for the championship. He obviously couldn’t abide a Gryffindor win, and the Ravenclaws were insufferable with their talk of _tactics_ as if they had invented the concept of strategy. Severus felt a natural impulse to root for the underdogs.

Severus had a difficult time focusing on the game. The shock of pain had subsided only to be replaced by the shock of his own ineptitude. He still could not _believe_ that he’d splinched himself. That hadn’t happened since he was seventeen, and even then he’d only lost a couple of toenails. That he could bungle it so badly after nearly twenty years’ experience was galling. Annoyingly, he could hear a chirpy little voice in his head repeating: _Destination, Determination, Deliberation!_

Destination: Well, admittedly, he hadn’t had a clear destination in mind when he’d apparated. He had only wanted to get home, so Hogsmeade was the obvious choice; the fact that he had landed at the Shrieking Shack specifically was probably because bloody Remus Lupin had scrambled his brain.

Determination: Severus had been very determined to flee. Obviously. There was not one single fibre of his being that wanted to stay in that room. Contrary to what the evidence might suggest, no part of him had felt any reluctance to go. It was sheer coincidence that Remus Lupin had been holding on to the body part Severus had left behind.

Deliberation: Severus was never entirely sure how this differed from Determination, but he had not spent any time deliberating before he’d acted.

All in all, Severus could have done a better job.

With each minute that passed, Severus grew less inclined to return to London and retrieve his missing limb. Surely by now he had been found out. Would it not be easier to simply flee the country, disappear, assume a new identity and restart his life with a clean, right-handed slate? Let the Dark Lord come for him if he must. Death at the Dark Lord’s hands would be infinitely preferable to dying of embarrassment at the feet of Remus Lupin.

Severus turned his attention back to the pitch, determined to think of anything but Lupin. The Slytherins were behind, but they were still putting up a good fight. Severus watched the Slytherin Keeper perform a rather spectacular save and moved to clap before realising his mistake. Fortunately, no one noticed Severus’ momentary maladroitness. (Maladroit; now _that_ was a respectable _jeu de mots_ — he _was_ quite gauche without his left hand. Lupin would have appreciated that one.) Unfortunately, hardly anyone noticed the Keeper’s manoeuvre, either. Later, no one would remember that part of the match. In fact, all anyone would talk about for days after was the moment Harry Potter collapsed in the stands.

* * *

Slowly, Kreacher dragged himself up the final flight of stairs. He could easily have apparated, of course, but this had become a sort of ritual, like the Stations of the Cross the Black family had dutifully retraced every year back in the time of his Mistress. It was his favourite time of day, when the rest of the unworthy squatters currently living in his home went about the sordid business of their empty little lives and left Kreacher to his own devices. This was his ‘Me Time.’ He smiled to himself.

Quietly, reverently, as he had done every day for sixteen years, he entered Master Regulus’ bedroom. Memories of the beloved child flooded back to him, as they always did. No one knew that Kreacher still maintained the room. No one had asked him to do it; but then, no one had ever told him _not_ to do it, either. He would like to see Legally-Nominal-Master Sirius _try_ to stop him. Ha! A creaky laugh escaped his windpipe.

But when it came time to banish the dust-bunnies from under the bed, his already-parched laughter dried right up. There was something under there that had not been there the day before. No — some _one._

Proceeding with caution, Kreacher was not sure if he was more or less disturbed to discover that it was only _part_ of someone. He pulled the nasty, vomit-encrusted appendage out and gasped. It bore the Mark, the hated Mark, the one that had taken his little prince away from him. Kreacher’s eyes burned with rage. He didn’t know who had left it there, or why, but he could not allow such filth to besmirch his sacred space. Thus resolved, he gripped the flesh and disappeared from the room.

* * *

After a false start (upon which he’d remembered that he was still nude but for his slippers), Remus had left the house that morning with no specific destination in mind. He tramped across central London, trying to clear his head enough to figure out a plan. Gradually the trembling in his limbs subsided, and he slipped into a state of calm detachment. His body was exhausted, having covered several kilometres while still recovering from the full moon, but Remus was determined to keep moving.

Eventually his feet carried him to the Natural History Museum. Remus had often come here in times of trouble, ever since he was a young man. It was a calming place for him, even with the usual bustle of tourists and schoolchildren. It humbled him to be in the presence of so much wonder, to feel how small and insignificant his problems were in the grand procession of time. His heart lifted whenever he stepped into the entrance hall and stood in the shadow of the _Diplodocus carnegii_. Its posture had recently been readjusted based on the latest palaeontological research. Remus read about this with great interest. It soothed him to think that it was never too late to change the past — or rather, to reevaluate it. Even after 150 million years.

He lingered for some time amongst the marine invertebrates. It was one of his favourite galleries, always quieter and calmer than the dinosaurs or megafauna. Severus would probably say it was because he felt at home amongst other spineless creatures. Remus’ lips twitched. Then he remembered, and plunged back into despair.

Suddenly it was too much, being around all those reconstructed skeletons. He thought of how they actually looked when palaeontologists turned them up, a mess of scattered bones that only an expert eye could make sense of. He thought about all of the missing pieces filled in with casts to complete the models. He felt queasy. There would be nothing to reconstruct of Severus; nothing left but a solitary limb. A horrifying thought struck Remus and he felt a sharp cramp in his stomach that signified the urgent need to have a bowel movement. Oh, god, was that Severus passing through his intestines?!

A moment’s reflection would have reminded Remus that werewolves are neither owls nor crocodiles, and do not swallow their prey whole. This might have tipped him off that there was a flaw in his hypothesis. However, Remus was not in any fit state for reasoned reflection. He was a walking disaster, and he was about to expel the contents of his digestive tract from either end in a public toilet. And yet he felt that this was still better than he deserved.

* * *

Severus had been so relieved at the end of the quidditch match that he’d accidentally sprung to his feet and cheered for Hufflepuff. Now, back in his chambers, he braced himself to return to Grimmauld Place. He mentally rehearsed the various ways he might sneak up and Obliviate Lupin without ever having to confront him. At last, when he could stall no longer, he drew his cloak back on and headed out the door.

Severus was dismayed but not entirely surprised to be waylaid by Minerva McGonagall as he was leaving his rooms. “Oh, Professor Snape!” she called to him. “I was just on my way to find you.”

“How fortuitous,” Severus said.

“Harry Potter is recovering in the infirmary. He’ll be fine, completely fine, Poppy’s treating him for a migraine; but he’s quite insistent that he needs to speak to you.”

Splendid. This day just kept getting better and better. “I see. Would you be so kind as to inform Mr. Potter that if he’d like to speak with me, he can come back on Monday when I have office hours?”

Minerva looked at him sternly over the top of her spectacles. That look somehow gave him the impression that she towered above him, despite being several inches shorter, and it always made Severus feel eleven years old again. “I don’t think he’s looking to chat about his Potions homework, Severus.”

Severus withheld a sigh. He knew, of course, that if Potter had actually _requested_ his presence, something must be amiss. But he didn’t have to pretend he was keen to go.

When he reached the infirmary, Severus was briefly taken aback by the sight of Harry Potter reclining with a damp flannel folded over his eyes. How very muggleish. Severus remembered that his mother used to do the same for him.

He approached with catlike tread until he was very close to Potter’s bedside, then called out in his lecture-hall voice, “Potter!”

The way Potter flinched was the first good thing that had happened all day. Tarantara, indeed.

“You needed to speak to me, Potter?” Severus continued. He offered no assistance as Potter frantically groped for his glasses, knocking them to the ground.

“Yes. Erm. It’s sort of important.”

“Best get on with it, then.”

“Right. Well. I had — I had another vision. Of — you know — ”

Severus’ eyes widened. “Yes, I know who,” he cut Potter off, hurriedly casting _Muffliato_ around them. _Say it so the whole school can hear you, why don’t you, Potter?_ “Why did you not think to call for Headmaster Dumbledore?”

“Well, err, the vision was kind of… about you.”

Severus’ throat went dry. “How so?”

“Erm…” Ye gods, the boy was going to drive him to the brink with his stammering. “He’s angry with you.”

Severus felt his heart stop. “What makes you say that?” he asked calmly.

“There were all these Death Eaters gathered around, and he wanted to know why you weren’t there too, and he said something about how maybe you had better things to do with your precious time, which I’m pretty sure was sarcasm; only turns out he’s not great at sarcasm, no one even realised they were supposed to laugh at first and then when they did it felt forced, it was all very awkward, I’m actually not sure he wanted me to see that part…”

“Slow down, Potter.” Severus’ mind was racing. A summons? How the devil had he missed a summons? It wasn’t like missing a floo call. It should have been physically impossible to ignore —

Ah. Right. Damn that cat. _Damn_ Remus Lupin.

“Erm, do you want to hear the rest now?”

There was _more_? “Go on.”

“Well, then one of the Death Eaters said that he’d come straight from his daughter’s quidditch match, because _he_ had his priorities straight, he said” — Potter’s face twisted in disgust, an expression that reminded Severus painfully of Lily — “and he told everyone that he’d seen you there. At the match.”

Well, shit.

Severus took a step back. “If that’s all, I have other matters to attend to,” he said. What the bloody hell had the Dark Lord summoned them for at noon on a Saturday, anyway? A garden party?

Potter gaped like a fish. “But what are you going to — ”

“Whatever I do or do not do is none of your concern, Potter.”

Potter’s Adam’s apple bobbed, and his features settled into a familiar and comfortable expression of contempt. There it was. Much better. Severus spun on his heel and stalked toward the door, but he turned back halfway.

“Oh, and Potter, before I go — ” Severus was pleased to see the way the boy tensed up at the sound of his voice. “You were right to bring this to my attention, this time. Four points to Gryffindor.”

Potter looked staggered, though whether it was due to Snape actually awarding him points or the fact that he’d refused to round up to five was hard to say. Either way, Severus walked away feeling quite sanctimonious; he’d done his act of charity for the year.

Now he just needed to work out how to explain to the Dark Lord why he’d missed a summoning to attend a quidditch match that Slytherin hadn’t even won.

* * *

After a harrowing experience in the loo at the Natural History Museum and another in the shrubbery outside, Remus knew it was time to face up to what he’d done. There was only one person he could go to with this terrible burden. No doubt Dumbledore would be disappointed in Remus for consuming the Order’s single most valuable asset, not to mention a personal friend, but it was far better to confess now rather than let him find out on his own.

Remus apparated into Hogsmeade, having decided against sending an owl or patronus. And if Dumbledore happened to be busy, he would simply come back later. He convinced himself that this was a reasonable course of action which would prevent the information from falling into the wrong hands. It had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with delaying the inevitable.

It was a brisk, sunny day. Remus started down the path to the school on shaky feet. At least it would be nice to get a bit of exercise and vitamin D before being locked up forever in Azkaban.

* * *

Severus reviewed his plan as he trudged towards Hogsmeade. Right. Go to Grimmauld place, retrieve his arm, erase Lupin’s memory, get out. Easy as A-B-C. Then he could go apologise for missing Death Eater Brunch and devote the rest of his evening to grovelling before the Dark Lord. He’d endure a few _Crucios_ and then, if all went according to plan, he’d be home in time for supper.

Naturally, his plans were buggered before he even made it into Hogsmeade: for there was Remus Lupin, coming down the lane toward him. Severus froze for a moment. So did Lupin. Severus reached surreptitiously for his wand, but he was completely stymied by what Lupin did next.

“Severus!” Lupin cried out, seemingly ecstatic. “Oh, I’m so, _so_ happy to see you!”

In the next moment, Severus found himself enveloped in a crushing embrace. Lupin pulled him flush, his face mashed against Severus’ shoulder as if he were trying to burrow through the layers. His breathing was rapid and shaky, like he might start crying any minute. He smelled positively foul, but Severus was so overwhelmed by other sensations that he barely registered that.

“Lupin!” Severus hissed. He intended to give him a dressing-down, to command that Lupin let go of him at once and explain himself, but unfortunately, what came out of his damned traitor mouth was “People could see us, you know!” — which, had anyone been close enough to hear or see them, would only have added fuel to the flame.

“Ionaah,” Lupin mumbled into the fabric of Severus’ cloak, which he guessed meant ‘I don’t care.’

“Yes, you do,” Severus argued sensibly. Honestly, what was _he_ doing consoling _Lupin_? He was the one who’d been dismembered, and it was all Lupin’s fault to begin with.

“IauIayyu,” Lupin responded.

“Right. I don’t think I can parse that one.”

Lupin pulled back, flushed and pathetic. “I thought I ate you,” he repeated.

Severus was stricken. He didn’t know whether he should be outraged or burst out laughing. The infelicitous result was that he attempted to scold Lupin while also trying to swallow back a childish and entirely uncharacteristic fit of giggles. “What, do you put so little faith in my brewing ability?” he demanded.

Lupin shrugged sullenly. “I don’t know. _You_ try waking up next to an unaccounted-for body part and tell me what first comes to mind.”

Well, perhaps he could concede that point. “I think I’d rather not,” said Severus. “Now, will you unhand me, Lupin?”

Lupin stared at him for a moment, then laughed a bit hysterically. “I thought I already did that,” he replied.

Severus scowled. He really ought to have seen that one coming.

* * *

Remus apparated Severus back to Grimmauld Place, as Severus was not quite feeling up to apparating himself. Remus was exceedingly well-behaved and did not make a single dirty joke about the Three ‘D’s. (Well, maybe just the one.) As soon as they arrived, Crookshanks came trotting toward them, tail in the air. Remus smiled at the sight of him. He clucked his tongue and bent at the knees, ready to greet his fluffy friend, but to his great consternation Crookshanks walked right past him and began to weave back and forth between Severus’ legs, ducking under the heavy hem of his robes. Remus pouted, jealous of both, although he had to admit it was very sweet. Severus stood stock-still, looking down at the cat as if he had no idea how to react.

“Get away from him, you pervert!”

Remus started. He’d been so caught up that he hadn’t noticed Sirius emerging from the shadowed hall, wand drawn, righteous fury ablaze in his eyes. Remus glanced back at Severus, whose face was blank. “Sorry, Sirius, can you be a bit more specific? Which one of us is the pervert — me, Severus, or the cat?”

“I’m not joking, Remus,” Sirius said. “This slimy — this _degenerate_ broke into my house to — to — I’m sorry, Remus, but I just have to say it like it is — he was _wanking_ into your _underwear drawer_!”

Remus blinked several times, letting the words settle in the air between them like thick dust. Then he began to laugh.

Severus was not laughing. “Good afternoon to you too, Black. Would you care to explain this latest and, may I say, most imaginative attempt at character assassination?” His voice was deep and dangerous.

Remus couldn’t speak, as he was doubled over with tears streaming down his face. Sirius, for once in his life, seemed too stunned to react. “Are you _laughing at me_ , Remus?” Sirius asked.

“Yes,” Remus wheezed. This seemed to put Severus at ease; Remus could almost feel the crackling energy dissipate beside him. “Sorry, Sirius,” he said, finally getting a grip on himself, “it’s just, there’s been a misunderstanding. There’s a perfectly simple — well, there’s an explanation, anyway. You see, I happened — through utterly ordinary and respectable means, mind you — to come into temporary custody of Severus’ left arm, and I needed someplace safe to store it, so I put it in my chest of drawers. I suppose I should have paid attention to _which_ drawer I placed it in, and for that I apologise.”

“Well. Now that that’s sorted,” Severus said dryly, “I’d like to proceed with reattaching my arm, if you please.”

“Certainly,” said Remus. “I’ll just go fetch it for you, shall I?”

“Wait! I may have moved it,” Sirius said. Remus hadn’t seen his friend so discomfited since sixth year when he’d thought ‘clitoris’ was the name of a spell. Severus looked incensed. Crookshanks meowed loudly. “Oh, don’t _you_ start on me,” Sirius growled at the cat. “You’re the one that got me into this muddle.”

“Well, I hope you didn’t move it very far,” Remus said.

“No, no. I won’t be a minute,” Sirius said, before dashing up the stairs two at a time.

In fact, Sirius was several minutes. Severus began to pace, irritated. “He’s deliberately taking his time, the bastard,” he muttered.

Privately Remus suspected this to be true, but he didn’t want to exacerbate the situation. “Shall we go up and check on him?” he offered.

“No, _I_ shall go up and do it myself,” Severus snapped, but before he could, a loud oath echoed down the stairwell.

“Sirius? Everything all right?” Remus called upward.

He was answered by the sound of thunderous footsteps above him, followed a moment later by a pale and flustered Sirius Black. “It’s _gone_ ,” he said, glaring at Severus as if Severus had done this to him on purpose.

“ _What?!_ ” Severus roared. In a flash, the two men had wands drawn on one another.

“All right, easy, easy now,” Remus said, fighting an internal surge of alarm. He tried to insinuate himself between Sirius and Severus, although at present he doubted that either of them would hesitate to hex him.

Severus, to Remus’ surprise, broke his stance first, pointing his wand in another direction. “Enough of this,” he snarled. “ _Accio Left Arm!_ ”

There was a tremendous clatter, and a few seconds later, Severus was lying flat on the ground.

* * *

Severus awoke to a blinding light and two or three Remus Lupins smiling angelically down at him. Angelically? That wasn’t the right word. He meant kindly. No, warmly. Beatifically. No! He meant beat it! Go away, Remus Lupin! But don’t beat _it._ He definitely was not thinking about _it._ Wait, what was it he wasn’t thinking about?

“Sorry, Severus, but I need you to keep your eyes open. I think you might be concussed. In fact, I’m almost certain that you are.”

Concussed? Severus Snape did not get concussions. His head was very hard. It was an affront to even suggest it. “Why did this happen?” Severus slurred. He’d meant to ask ‘what happened?’ but that was close enough.

“Well, you cast _Accio Left Arm_ , but you forgot to specify which left arm. Next thing we knew, about one-fifth of a suit of jousting armour came flying at your head.”

“No,” Severus groaned quietly. And here he’d thought he couldn’t possibly humiliate himself any further.

“Don’t worry about that, dear. You’re fine.”

Deer. That was funny. Wait, had he spoken out loud?

“Yes, but it’s all right. You’re all right.” Remus cautiously stroked his hair like he was a cat. Underneath Remus’ fingers Severus felt a great big bruise welling up. Wonderful. As if he weren’t ugly enough already.

Remus withdrew his hand and waved it in the air above Severus’ face like he was practising his swish-and-flick, fluttering his fingers all the while. Severus watched, mystified.

“Am I hallucinating you?” Severus asked politely.

“No. You didn’t hit your head _that_ hard, Severus.”

Severus attempted to shake his head, but that was a bad idea. “Hardness doesn’t matter,” he explained. “It’s more about what part of the head you hit.”

“I see,” Remus sniggered. “Imagine my relief that hardness doesn’t matter.”

“Lemurs Rupin — Remusloop — you, you are a _child_.”

“Lucky for you, I’m not,” Remus said, grinning even wider.

Severus tried to focus on the other man’s eyes well enough to scowl at him. Stupid Remus Loofah. Remixlubin. Rhombus Lala.

“Wow. Colder and colder.”

Severus frowned suspiciously. “You’re not a legili-man, are you?”

Remus’ eyes sparkled. How did they do that? “Believe me, Severus, when I tell you I have no idea what goes on in that very hard head of yours.”

“Can’t believe Black thought I was… was… _abusing_ myself over your underwear drawer.” Severus found he couldn’t finish the sentence without laughing. He hadn’t seen the humour in it earlier, but now as he said it aloud he realised it was quite funny.

“Mm, well, if you saw what I’ve got in there, maybe you wouldn’t find it so hard to believe.”

Severus felt the blood rush to his face. He cast about for the perfect riposte that would shut Remus down and convey that Severus was absolutely _not_ interested in him, except perhaps as a test subject (while still leaving a teeny, tiny little toe in the door just in case). What he actually said was, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Remus repeated, voice tremulous with repressed laughter.

“O… kay…” Severus’ eyes drifted shut again. His brain couldn’t handle all of this at once.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Remus said loudly (ouch), cupping a hand at the base of Severus’ skull and forcing his head upright. Severus whined in protest. “Maybe we should get you sitting up in a chair. Would it be all right if I moved you?”

“Fine,” said Severus, who had no dignity left to speak of anyway.

“Okay. I’m going to help lift you, but I’m still going to need you to” — he paused for too long, as if savouring the moment — “give me a hand.”

Severus groaned, which was apparently the response Lupin was hoping for. “Why, wasn’t one enough for you?” he retorted.

Lupin looked far too pleased with himself as he secured his arms under Severus’ armpits and hoisted him up out of bed. “Oh, stop,” he said, “I gave it back.” He walked Severus over to a nearby armchair.

“Did you?” That’s right, Severus realised. He had armpits to be hoisted by. Plural. He held up his left arm, which was still numb from being reattached, and gasped in horror. “Oh God, what did you _do_ to it?”

“ _I_ didn’t do anything,” Lupin said defensively. There were little bruises — dog bites, Severus realised with disgust— along the tender flesh of his inner elbow. A cat scratch ran clean through the Dark Mark, which was not going to do him any extra favours with the Dark Lord. And there was… he drew his hand a little closer and his face scrunched reflexively.

“Eugh, what is that _smell_?”

“Hmm? Nothing,” Remus said quickly. “I don’t smell anything, and if anything got on it I would smell it, you know, because I’m a werewolf, and I smell things.”

That was the very definition of protesting too much, but Severus decided perhaps he’d rather not know. “So, where did it end up after Black went and _lost_ it?”

“ _That_ is a mystery we may never know the answer to,” Remus said, “but I think I came out of all this owing Kreacher a favour. I shudder to think what that’s going to entail.”

“Good God, how many people manhandled my member while I was away?”

“Technically a werewolf, a cat, a dog, and a house elf, so I’m not sure ‘manhandled’ is the appropriate expression.” Remus was obviously trying to restrain himself from laughing. “Now, on the subject of _inappropriate_ expressions…”

“I knew you wouldn’t just let that one pass. It’s not sportsmanlike of you to pick on me while I’m addlepated, you know.”

“I’m sorry,” Remus said, biting his lip. “I can be solemn, if you prefer.”

“Please, no, that’s even worse.”

Remus looked in his direction with such tenderness that Severus swivelled around to see if the cat was behind him. Severus was disconcerted.

“Why haven’t you asked what I was doing in your room this morning?” he blurted before he could stop himself.

“Hmm? Oh, I don’t need to ask. I would’ve been curious, too, if I got the chance to snoop about your quarters while you were sleeping.”

“I was not _snooping —_ ” Severus huffed. “This is all that damned cat’s fault.”

“Yes, somehow he’s figured out how to unlatch the door on his own. He’s too clever for his own good.” That was not what Severus had meant, but he agreed anyway.

“You know what they say about cats and curiosity, don’t you?” Severus asked.

“Please, I think I’ve had enough excitement for one day,” Remus said. He sat down on the arm of Severus’ chair, so that Severus had to tilt his head back to see his face. Severus became excruciatingly aware of Remus’ body heat. “So, what say you?” Remus asked, his voice suddenly low. “Will you spare me the trouble and assuage my curiosity?”

Severus thought he must be having some sort of involuntary muscle spasm, because he certainly did not mean to bat his lashes at Remus Lupin. “That depends. Apparently my left arm had a very interesting adventure without me today. I hardly think that’s fair, do you?” Severus paused. “I don’t mean getting slobbered on like a chew toy or abducted by a geriatric elf,” he clarified.

“Mmhmm. I got that.”

The smile on Remus’ face was a revelation. Somehow, Remus seemed to be responding to Severus’ clumsy attempt at flirting. Severus hadn’t even thought he knew how to flirt. Had he secretly been a flirtation prodigy all along, or had the blow to his head given him a new superpower?

Hang on — when had he decided it would be a good idea to flirt with Remus Lupin? Shit.

“Perhaps,” Remus continued, “I could interest you in a private tour sometime, to fill you in on what you missed?”

“That would be satisfying. I mean satisfactory.”

Remus placed a gentle hand on the unbruised part Severus’ head, sending shivers down his spinal column. “Not tonight, though. I’m not about to take advantage of an addled man. Besides, it’s been a hell of a day, and I’m exhausted.”

“Yes,” Severus agreed. “Can we go to bed now?”

“What? No, God no,” Remus said, getting to his feet. “You’re exhibiting multiple symptoms of traumatic brain injury. I’m taking you to St. Mungo’s.”

Severus was first baffled, and then offended. “You think because I tried to flirt with you I need to go to the hospital?”

Remus snorted. “No, you need to go to the hospital because you’re struggling with speech and your eyes aren’t tracking properly. Do you feel safe to stand up yet?”

Severus gave it a go and found that yes, he could stand. He still made a show of stumbling a little so that Remus would catch him and wrap his arms around his waist. Remus leaned in close and whispered in his ear. “The flirting, I’m going to hold you to.”

Severus shivered again. “Promise?”

“Promise.” Remus leaned back to meet his eyes. “Now,” he said, “I think we’d better travel by floo this time, don’t you?”


End file.
